


Chargers

by KnightDawn



Series: Blood of the Covenant [11]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: The Last Court
Genre: Animal Death, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied Marquis/Bard, Mage Marquis, The ship is not the focus of this fic, Wyvern hunt, Wyverns, but it IS canon to it so I tagged it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27053989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightDawn/pseuds/KnightDawn
Summary: Was this how the Shame had felt when he was cornered by the Seekers and Templars? Scared, angry, overwhelmed… but still too proud to do anything but charge forward, like he’d always done?“The only way to move is forward.”In which the Marquis of Serault faces a Wyvern.
Relationships: Marquis of Serault/The Wayward Bard, The Scholar/The Wayward Bard
Series: Blood of the Covenant [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947613
Kudos: 4
Collections: Beyond the Veil's Artober Event





	Chargers

“There’s the beast, my Lord! We have it cornered! Shall we distract it while you go in for the kill? That worked last time, with the boar...”

The Bard’s words faded into the background as the Marquis studied their quarry. 

The wyvern held its ground and scanned the hunting party as they approached, emerald eyes flicking over them one by one. It flared it’s crest and snarled. Venom dripped from it’s knife-sharp fangs.

It was _nothing_ like a boar — boars grew stupid when they were furious, charged forward because they were blinded by their fear. The wyvern was seeking out a weak point, calculating it’s odds of winning.

When its gaze fell on the Marquis, he saw his own eyes staring back.

Understanding flickered between them, and the Marquis shivered and adjusted his grip on his sword as he stepped forward. “No. Let me.”

He heard the Bard begin to protest, then go quiet. He had a reputation for being a soft, spoiled scholar — but the Bard knew better. He’d seen his Marquis fight his way through a maze of thorny brambles to rescue him. He was tenacious. 

He had to be — he was Serault. Everything he did, everything he _was,_ reflected back on her.

The wyvern narrowed it’s eyes at the Marquis as he circled around, counter-clockwise, flashing his sword. The silver blade caught a ray of sun, glinting bright in the shadows of the forest. His hunters and his Bard circled around in the opposite direction, weapons readied. 

A twig snapped. The wyvern snarled as it began to turn, but the Marquis darted forward and flicked his sword out again. He bared his teeth and hissed as he dropped into a lower stance, holding it’s attention while his men took their places. He just had to buy them a little more time.

The beast clawed at the ground, it’s tail flicking from side to side furiously, but it did not run or back away — it was too proud, too accustomed to being the one in command here.

Was this how the Shame had felt when he was cornered by the Seekers and Templars? Scared, angry, overwhelmed… but still too proud to do anything but charge ahead, like he’d always done? 

_“The only way to move is forward.”_ _We are the same, you and I._

Once more, he flicked his sword out. This time, the beast lunged. The Marquis dropped to the ground, raising his weapon feebly. Teeth snapped above him. A sharp pain stung his forearm. He heard a distant voice cry out in alarm. His blade ripped through flesh, spilling hot blood over him. 

The wyvern flailed aimlessly as the Marquis stumbled out from under it, clutching his arm. He turned in time to watch the wings go limp and drift to a slow rest, like a sheet tossed over a bed. It was done, but the Marquis felt hollow.

The Bard moved to his side, looking over him in concern. “My Lord! Are you alright?”

The Marquis grimaced, brushing his fingers over his wound. When he pulled his hand away, it was mended. The Bard’s eyes flicked down, his lips pursed tight — but this was an old secret, one he’d known since the Marquis was still a boy.

“I’m fine. That was close!” He sighed as he looked down at himself. “Did manage to ruin my clothes, though. Damn.” Some of the other hunters chuckled in relief. They'd been _concerned._

“You go through clothes faster than I go through wine,” the Bard teased, concern still lingering in his eyes. The Marquis scoffed quietly, raising his eyebrows. “Well — _almost._ Go on then. The prize is yours. Better hurry. It’s almost dusk, and you know the Dowager must _never_ be kept waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Wyvern Hunt that happens as part of "the Dowager's Decline" arc in the Last Court.
> 
> I touched on some of my thoughts in the notes for ["Warden"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26830789) but expanded on them here: my Marquis is a hedge mage himself, so he lives in the Shame's shadow - always wanting to be as brilliant as he was, always worried that he will fail just as miserably. He knows he could easily be the next "beast" that people go a-hunting. 
> 
> "We are the same, you and I."


End file.
